


All those moments

by enthymontai



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Angst, Aphrodisiacs, Complicated Relationships, Crack, Depression, Drabble Collection, Food, Friends With Benefits To Lovers, Growing Old, Idiots in Love, Language, M/M, Narcotics, Non-Explicit Sex, Novices, Pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-25
Updated: 2017-05-15
Packaged: 2018-06-10 17:00:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 14,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6965578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enthymontai/pseuds/enthymontai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One shots/ drabbles about Malik and Altaïr in various scenes and themes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Almost kissed

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys. This is what I do when I wait for your new chapters to show up or want to procrastinate from my original fiction. Or anything at all. These drabbles are small, nothing new, but if anyone has a good laugh and some feels then it`s enough for me. Please overlook the bad grammar and typing. 
> 
> The main characters belong to ubisoft.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sleepdeprived Malik has a slip of control. Does Altair mind?

Altair dropped trough the lattice in the dark of the early morning hours.

 

Against better knowledge, Malik had waited for his safe return, holding himself awake with work. Yet he must have dozed off, crumbling over the desk, head sinking to the coarse surface, for he was startled awake at some point.

 

Long ingrained instincts made him grab a weapon, which he didn`t need, really, because it was Altair stepping up to the counter.

 

They exchanged their ritual greetings. Altair with a hoarse, tired huff, leaning heavily on the wood and Malik muttering, squinting blearily at the brightness of his oillamp. It followed an awkward pause, filling itself with hesitancy, then mutual understanding to drop their usual banter. Both men were exhausted to the point, where rest was dearly anticipated and temper testing fights for dominance could wait.

 

In the lucid state of the next morning, Malik would not remember how or why it had happened, only that when Altair managed a brief resume of his mission, his tired gaze had fallen to the man`s mouth and he had immediately dropped deaf to the tale of events. His struggling mind had focused on Altairs lips stretching around rolling vowels, and his tongue, nervously stumbling over foreign language. There was a flash of theeth and a particular freshly cracked dry spot on his lips, bleeding in the midst of their swell.

 

Malik`s dreamlike peace lasted into aprupt silence. He did not wake when the stream of words ceased and Altair mustered him expectantly from under his hood. His mind continued to stumble and reel, shattered to pieces on freshly smeared red and lost between soft stretching valleys.

 

Afterwards, Malik would remember it as an urge, an encompassing imperative to do it. His only hand lifted itself from the desk to dunk the thump in the earthen bowl where sesame oil pooled from his last meal. The world around him had ceased to exist long ago when he leaned over (and in) to press the slick digit on chafed skin. Altair tensed, scrambled, but Malik held him in place, stubbly jaw clenched shut with his big hand.

 

Altiars lips were warm and flaky. Malik traced their curves and corners, carelessly smearing oil all over them. Then, as if this wasn`t enough, he slid his thumb over the bloody spot and pressed in with one rough motion. Altair jolted, moaned in objection around the invading digit, his hands coming up, halting, as Malik spread him open, finding the inner parts hot, pliant and moist, fleetingly brushing his tongue, tracing the hard ridge of teeth before leaving.

 

Malik may have come to his senes then, because he drew back immediately, ignoring Altair`s still raised hands (to defend? to attack?) and snuffed the oil lamp, dismissing him in the darkness with his most court and final “Go to sleep, novice”, before he all staggered to his private chamber where he fell on his cot fully dressed and all but fled in the mindless oblivion.

 

For this, Malik didn`t come to witness how Altair finally settled his hands to lower his hood and look after him, puzzled, with blown, bloodshot eyes. He was not lucid anymore to realize that Altair followed him to his cot, stripped his belt, his weapons and boots and carefully heaved his arm up to his side from where it dangled over the wooden frame. And he never came to know, how Altair had trouble finding sleep that night in the yard, despite his exhaustion, still tasting Maliks thumb on his split lips, like sesame oil, bitter ink and a rough kiss.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PS: Nothing is beta-read here. Sorry.


	2. Nightly Desires

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At midnight, Altair and Malik have different cravings.

Malik woke up in the middle of the night to the absence of the body usually weighing in the right side of his bed. It wasn`t exactly the first time he woke up alone, but the first time the sheets beside him were suspiciously cold like long-since-abandonned. A bang of worry made him rise with drowsy sleepiness and listen blindly in to the black depth of the night. 

A faint repetitive scrap finally led him the way to the kitchen. When he opened the door, gold light flooded his vision, blinding him before his gaze adjusted, sharpened on the figure crouching next to the cookingpot. 

His naked feet grew cold on the stone tiles as he watched Altair munchig the stew meant for the guests tomorrow, debating with himself, if he wantet to yell at him right now for trespassing, or feed him later something else, to fill his greedy, beautiful mouth for good measures. 

Altair was fully adsorbed digging in the spicy broth and savouring the most delicios pieces he could find in its depth. He delighted in the scarce opportunity to indulge his craving for good food.

The moment he realized he was not alone anymore, that Malik was watching him with crossed arms and curled toes, very much implying he shouldn`t be eating in the middle of the night (or that particular stew at all), his cheeks were puffed from stuffing to much meat into his mouth. 

There was literally no room for some sort of explanation or even a stammered excuse. His own greed had perfectly subdued him and Altair knew that he was caught, trapped and doomed.

He gulped guiltily, bracing for Maliks verbal whipping. Exept, the silence in the kitchen stretched on unexpectantly and unconfortably. 

While he studied Maliks curled toes (never his face) his gaze fell on the soft bulge of his nightgown and it dawned on him, that Malik had already chosen a punishment, fitting his own nightly desires. 

Altair would need to make amends later. On his knees. With his spice-heated tongue.


	3. Blind but not Lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things happen in the darkness of night at the bureau...

"I wonder, if I was mistaken to belive I was welcome here..."

 

The impact of the blade had sent a feverish tremor through the wood, down to where Altair`s fingertips gripped the closed door.

 

„You were warned to enter here without anouncement.” Maliks voice was a sleep-raw rasp resounding in the silence. "Only a major dumbass like you tries to sneak up on me while sleepig!"

 

Altair felt along the frame and found the throwing knife was deeply embedded in the surface next to his ear. It made him smile. Maliks aim was something exiting, regardless of knives, words or black looks.

 

„Well, I felt it was more fun that way. Don`t you agree?”

 

Altair couldn`t see Malik throwing up his hand in exasperation but imaging it was fun the same. It made him grin viciously. On the other side of the room Malik couldn’t see him for sure, but he instantly deduced his expression out of habit.

 

“You creep. Someone needs to beat _the fun_ out of your sun-shrivelled brain.”

 

Altair heard an angy rustle of fabric and the loud creack of wood. Then - nothing more. Cicadas were chirping lazily in the garden but no sound from the room reached his trained ear. The silence spoke for itself tough.

 

Altair was positive Malik had left the bed and if he couldn`t deduce the faintest tap from boots on clay soil, he was barefooted. As there was no rustle of fabric, he might as well be naked.

 

Altair slowed his breathing, listening into the darkness, and when there was no audible sign at all he rolled his eyes in mock desperation. After all, the one armed Rafik of Jerusalem was still a lightfooted, knife throwing bastard.

 

Altair needed to move like _now_ , because Malik was certainly following his voice last location. He splayed his fingertips on the raw wall for guidance, sliding along and grasping at the layout of the room while simultaneously taking in the air. The whole room smelt strongly from wool blankets, leather, ink and steel with a whif of the characteristic musk of a certain man, marking the lions den.

 

There was a faint shift in the air, breaking gooseflesh on his arms the only warning he got before a solid body connected with him, thrashing them on the wall. 

 

They lost halt and tumbled to the ground with a bursting _bham_. Malik huffed and Altair groaned under the impact. As an afterthought, a crisp _ping_ marked the shattering of some earthenware and suddenly it smelt of kardamon and dates.

"You`re going to pay for that." Malik all but growled above him.

 

„No, you will, son of a -“

 

The punch on his jaw, Maliks only fist you suppose, made his teeth rattle. It didn`t hurt as much as it could have, for it had connected on a wrong angle, but then Altair wheezed from the hot pain blooming on his ribs, courtesy of a well placed ellbow. He felt more than saw Malik grinning against his skin.

 

„Here we are. Have enough already?“

 

Altair gave in to a surge of fury (he was a sore looser after all) and found purchase on Maliks sensitive and unguarded flank. From there he was able to reach up and sling his muscled arm around the man`s neck to wrestle him down and around.

 

Malik followed the movement for not having his neck broken or being strangled. He was grinding his teeth in outrage at the infuriating restraint and the absence of an arm to prevent the deadlock. From there it was a matter of time till Altair would manage to pin him on the ground. He dearly needed a distraction.

 

"Don`t think for a moment to use your knees or teeth, will you." Altair huffed into Maliks skin.

 

The body under him went still and he felt Maliks throat work against his shoulder, swallowing wetly. His own chest heaved from exertion and exitement, mirroring Maliks ragged gasps for air.

 

„You don`t play fair. Why should I?“

 

The words came in angry gushes of air on Altair`s hair and made him shiver slightly.

 

“Did I hurt you, Malik?”

 

“My pride only.”

 

Silence and uncertainity stretched on, filled with cicadas chirping, until Malik sighted, sending a strong flow of air on Altairs earlobe making him _shriek_ with disgust. 

 

Altair let go of Malik to scratch his ear furiously and Malik laughed at him from below, deep and ragged.

 

“Let me scratch that itch for you.”

 

Very carefully, Malik shifted their weight and Altair let him move on top. Then, something rough, warm and wet slid over Altair`s earlobe.

 

He may have cried then and there, involuntarly convulsing into a violent, bodily shudder. But Malik knew no mercy and applied his hot tongue everywhere, his neck, his nose, his brow, his adam`s apple, because he could and it was fun to hear Altair press outraged whimpers against gritted teeth.

 

“M-Malik, you- you- fu- fu- “

 

“Sush now! I`m taking my revenge.”

 

Altair jolted as a big hand dived into his robes and dwelved down to his groin intently. Soon he felt hot and tight and exited from the caresses and the luxurious slide of damp skin on skin, and to judge from the heady musk between them, Malik felt the same way.


	4. Come Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It`s hard to love a man like Altaïr when you barley love yourself.

When Altaïr returned, finally, Malik was still vigorously mad. He had tried to let it go, to not care and simply ignore it but it didn`t work out. So when the door opened to his study and a master assassin stormed in (he recognized him despite the hood) he was still a mess of simmering rage, lingering regret and bitterness an ash-like taste in his mouth. 

Altaïr was by his desk in three steps, bracing his hands on the rim, hovering close. His scent waved over, assaulted Malik with a strong mixture which made his nostrils flare with recognition. Altair was musky sweat and blazing sun, heated steel on leather all day long, horse and smoke of a late evening camp, and wild thyme on sand in the morning ... 

“I`m back.” Altairs voice rasped roughly from fatigue as from the desert winds yet a grin flashed through his new wild beard and Maliks mood droped infinitely to hell. 

“That I see.” 

He knew he was deliberately frosty and ungracious, not offering a "welcome back", a sympathetic "how has it been" or "I`m glad to see you safe". but he couldn`t care less at the moment. 

Altaïr crunched his nose, glaring from the shadow of his hood. “You are so miserable when you are jealous, Malik.” 

Malik stared back with a scowl. Whatever words he would chose to reply to, his tone would prove Altaïr right on both aspects. 

At that, Altaïr groaned, stepped back and went to the center of the room, fully aware that Maliks gaze followed him, raking him over, searching for recent injuries. 

“You know, it was great not to be the grandmaster for a month. It felt so- so free of all burden, like when -” 

“A burden which I had to carry in your absence.” Malik cut in sharply. 

Altaïr ignored him in favor to remove his hood, then the bracers. 

Malik noticed with surprise and growing envy how tanned Altaïrs hands were and how deliciously golden his neck and face had become, when he found himself looking like a fading ghost despite his darker complexion. 

“Being in solitude was also nice for once. Pure, unadulterated freedom for -” 

“Solitude, of course, and if you would happen to be killed on a solo mission we would not have found your corpse until the scavengers had devoured your flesh and scattered your bones in all cardinal directions.” 

Altaïr`s shoulders squared briefly before he relaxed again, unbuckling his belt and tossing it to the ground, then rid himself of his nasty boots. 

“Did you miss me that much?” Altaïr did not exactly look at him when he asked, eyes turned downward, fingers busy with the straps holding his scimitar. 

„Only in your wishful imagination. I was too busy doing _my_ duties _and_ yours.“ 

At this Altairs gaze shot up and pierced him to his desk with force. However, Malik held his head raised and his back straight. There was no way he would easily forgive Altaïr for going on a solo mission when he himself was forbidden to leave the castle, even forced to take a guard for shopping in town! 

Maliks heartbeat did speed up when Altaïr stepped in front of him, aware that his desk wouldn`t stand a chance against anything Altaïr had on his mind and neither he would, if the man cared to be serious. 

But Altaïr just worked his red sash open, revealing the sweat soaked tunic clinging to his body. He bunched up the bleached linen slowly until his stomach showed and Maliks gaze dropped involuntarily to the flat planes, following the rise and fall of breath, while gripping his quill, grounding his hand to the desk. 

Sand trickled on his desk and parchaments when Altaïr slipped the tunic over his head but Malik didn`t mind because his eyes were trained on the dark streaks where sweat had mixed with dust, on the few small bruises and the soft tuft of brown hair in the armpits, where he urgently wanted to bury his nose in. 

Altaïr let him watch, fidgeted his breeches over his hipbones to let him admire the youthful leanness of his waist and the trail of soft hair before he gripped Maliks chin, forcing his face up to his own, to whisper in his ear. 

“Don’t you realize I had to be sure you`re here when I come back? That I needed _you_ to be _here_ , to return again? It would have been so easy to fake death in the desert.” 

Malik stubbornly refused those words to sink into his consciousness. 

Altair sighed somewhat tired and Malik noticed new wrinkels deepening the skin around the ever pircing eyes. 

“Honestly, Malik, for not missing me a bit, you do want me very badly right now. One could think, you forgot how to use your hand for something else as for your quill.” 

Maliks face burned up bright from unspeakable shame and anger yet Altaïr held him in place, stroking playfully his bearded chin. 

“Get over yourself and come join me in the bath. You can help scrub my back.” 

With that he let go, stepped out of his breeches, untied his loincloth, tossed the disgusting piece on Malik`s desk and strode out the door stark naked, leaving it open invitingly. 

Some heartbeats passed before Malik realized he had held his breath to the point of getting dizzy. But then he filled his lungs with air and his voice with vile spiteful things, screaming them trough the open door, calling the grandmaster names, to be heard in whole Masyaf, while forcing himself to stay put despite his raging longing to ravish the fresh scents of freedom and travel from Altaïrs skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, I think the new novices in the castle were not so afraid of thunder and storm but of Malik screaming unspeakable things trough the corridors of Masyaf. I imagine, he was a fine orator but when you pull his strings, he could swear vilely. ;-)


	5. Food

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mostly innocent, idiot teen novices and their favourite food.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @ all the kudos-givers: Thank you very much! :-) It`s nice to know someone has fun.
> 
> I will dump some other drabbles here to part from them because I can`t delet them and a new project will need all my attention soon.

Fish---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Altair catched their fish and brings them to their camp where he throws them in front of the fire, not knowing how to proceed. 

The two older men don`t care to help but Malik, the other novice on kitchen duty, comes to rescue.

It remains a little wonder to Altair, how Malik knows to descale and gut them with short practised moves, how he salts them and sticks them together with thyme from the near cliffs. 

In the end, Altair is more than slightly impressed and he is still young enough to give voice to his admiration without a second thought.

“If I marry, I want a woman who has as skilled fingers as you do.”

Malik turns red and wordlessly looks the other way. 

Altair thinks nothing of it then, but much later, in a time when making compliments has become impossible and insults have taken their place, and Malik would only redden in anger anymore.

He comes to miss it dearly then, the salted fish with thyme. And so many things more.

 

Watermelon--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Kadar shakes his head, facing Altair, after he descendet from the stableroof.

"He doesn`t want to see your face but to beat it to pulp. He has told me this in exact the same words.”

He smirks at Altair`s desperate scowl.

“Malik is so pissed. What did you even do to him?”

Altair shrugs his shoulders, a small noncommital move.

"I have done nothing wrong. It`s entirely your brother`s fault for overreacting again."

Oh-and-Kadar-is-old-enough to assume the contrary.

"Whatever. Bring him some watermelon and he will forget it. It always does the trick ."

Altair`s gaze falls to his feet indecisively and this makes Kadar suspicious.

“What? It does work everytime!”

"Well- I think it has just ceased to work because- it started with a watermelon in the first place. He will maybe refrain from eating watermelon these days."

"What! His favourite food? Never! What in our creed`s name did you do to him? Made him fuck a watermelon?"

At this outrageous accusation Altair bristles scandalized.

"No! I simply brought us some watermelon. We went up the roof to eat undisturbed..."

Altair`s gaze turns inwards as if he needed to relive the moment in careful details, his voice gradually trails off to a toneless whisper.

"You know your brother- he is such a fast and messy eater- all the red juice on his face- I couldn`t- I kissed him." 

Kadar`s bright blue eyes widend in disbelief. 

"Did you really stick your tongue in my brother`s mouth?" He asked in childish awe.

Altair shooted him an indignant glance but reddened all over nonetheless. 

“Ihhh! grossss!”

Kadar at the age of five thinks nothing more of it as an opportunity to laugh his ass of at the cost of his older brothers. 

 

Pomegranats-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

(Note: Somewhere there`s a tradition to task a suitor asking for the hand of a woman to peal a pomegranate to test his patience in marriage.)

They had chosen Kadar to steal the pomegranates, because Kadar knew where to find the best fruits they were eating now silently, huddled together in the shadowy niche of a roof.

They carefully pulled the kernels from the core to not damage and waste the ruby liquid before it`s sweetness was spilled on their tongues. 

Still, Altair had managed a bloodbath on his new pristine-white tunic again and Kadar wondered, why Malik hadn`t chided him already, repeatedly and insistently, for his crude manners or his impatience, as these days you couldn`t accuse him of the lack of skill anymore. 

His brother`s silence went against all rules and that was suspicious to him.

Kadar throws another pomegranate at Altair which the other catched promptly, onehanded, not breaking off sucking and licking his other fingers in pursuit of the last droplets of juice. 

Kadar`s mood soured as he catched Malik staring at the apearing and diasapearing digits .

“Hey, Altair, I bet you can`t eat one pomegranate without spilling one seed.”

At that Altair looked up suspiciously, licking over his teeth.

“Why should I even try such feat? You don`t even have a sister to offer for mariage.”

“Well, no, but if you succeed, I allow you to kiss my brother.”

Malik`s fist hits empty space but it was enough of an answer to Kadar`s suspicion.


	6. Maybe one Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malik isn`t ready to give anything, especially when Altair invades his personal space like he was entitled to. If the "novice" wants something, he will have to wait for it to be given freely.

It`s dark and silent when Altair comes to him.

Malik woke partially from unconscious-deep sleep to a semi-perceptive state the moment the curtain of his room shifted. Despite his new life he still was a trained assassin and he wakes easily. His fingers tighten reflexively around the blade he keeps under his pillow, yet his body stays relaxed and his breath even.

He knows without a missing beat that it was Altair who sliped in the room. He was the only one who had the guts to violate the lock of his door, skillfully evade creaking floorboards and earthen bowls, the stool and finally the thread of horsehair. Altair knew him and the traps he still put up against potential invaders.

With closed lids Malik couldn`t see, but he still catched the specific details of how Altair divested himself at the front of his bed. There was a slow glide of leather and cloth, revealing measured, contemplative moves to not provoke the sleeper. The absence of the faintest ring of steel indicates that Altair had prepared for the visit; he he had come unarmed again.

There is a moment of stillness, it might have been hesitation, before Malik`s bedcover is lifted. He wants to cry in outrage at the loss of comfort and heat, but he didn`t. He was not ready to show he was awake and alert.

The hard thin mattress tiped slightly at another body`s weight before Altair stretched next to him. Heat is the prominent sensation that travels along Maliks skin when Altair shuffles close. A radiating heat, nothing like the sun, or the glowing embers of fire, yet Malik thinks it inhumane and visceral when he got blanketed with it. 

In the dark, Altair knew to move slow and sure, finding all the mounts and valleys of his body to carefully latching himself skin to skin, until his face is buried into Malik`s neck and one of his tights has sneaked between those of the sleeping man. When Altair`s hips shifted to meet Malik`s back he twitched lightly, shuddered and exhaled audibly before he stilling again.

The skin on the nape of Malik`s neck grew humid with time. He got goosebumps all over his back and the effort to stay relaxed and not move to punch the man out of his bed has grown into a unmeasurable itch.

Altair was aroused, like every time he secretly invaded Maliks bed at night and his lower back burned unconfortably with the silky touch of Altair`s erection. There is nothing accidental, nothing unconscious to this touch, for it was a demonstration of Altair`s desperate longing and Malik hated him for the selfish disply. The man consciously and childishly threatened his peace and his dignity again.

Malik got gradually worked up about Altair`s presence until he barley could maintain the illusion of sleep. It happened every time and he dreadet it viciusly, how easily his body reacted to the prospect of lovemaking. He could do nothing about the the growing ache in his loin or the minute spread of his knees, responding to Altair`s desperate search for intimacy. Malik has grown to know it for what it was, his own desperation, still he forced it away as far as possible by detaching himself from sensations. 

With the years it had become easy to slip from his body to evade the pain and dread of his daily life and to flee into a dark, infinite void. There, afloat between imagination and dreams, was the only and last place ever he could be at peace. 

Malik forced his perception from the faint breathed snore, marking Altair`s deepening sleep, stirrig his conciousness towards stillness. Fleetingly he feels a passing gratefulness. As long Altair held his body, it was as safe from the world as it would ever get in his life. He could leave it there, careless of what would happen to it while he would be gone to where no other soul could have followed. Not even Altair.


	7. Malik is a lovely drunk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Altair gets what he wants, but looses to Malik in every way.
> 
> Actual warning for more explicit imagery, for alcohol, drug-use and mild dub-con !!! 
> 
> (Do I need to change the specifications to explicite?)

Following the soft chords of Oud-play Altair climbed the hidden stairs. They provided anonymous access to the secluded upper floor of a certain establishment and he went unhindered despite his plain customer robes. The girls and their servants already knew him and where he was likely to go and therefore his shadow was his only company and the only witness to his madness.

Altair finally stoped in front of the last door in the west wing. His hands found purchase on the frame, driving blunt nails in the soft wood. His forehed grazed the wooden planks as his gaze trailed blindly along intricate painted flowers.

He hesitated, like every time before, because he had come here uninvited (again) and was risking to ruin the trust (once more) on which he had become grandmaster. 

When he couldn`t stand his racing heartbeat anymore he crossed the threshold.

In Masyaf, his unannounced intrusion would have gotten him a snide comment at least, or an inkpot to his head, but here it wasn`t even acknowledged.

Malik Al-Sayf, former master assassin and current Dai of Masyaf, lied stark naked on a purple clad divan of the most expensive high class brothel in town, reeling between drug-induced indifference and unconsciousness.

The first time Malik had vanished without notice and casually resurfaced two days later, Altair had cornered him in his study, demanding to know _why_ and _where_ , only to have been brushed off. He had let it slip then, deemed it inconsequential. Sure, it had bothered him a while, for the man had never ever left his side without proper notice, not since the day they had taken hold of Masyaf together. 

In the end there had been no point in suspecting Malik of anything other than finding a lover outside of the citadel. Altair remembered that it had happened before, when Malik had been younger and whole. 

In these days it hadn`t bothered him in the slightest, but now, when Malik had absolved _him_ , had believed _him_ despite it all, had come to _his_ aid, and had ultimately stayed by _his_ side, he had found himself upsetting possessive of what was _his_. 

Altair intently steped on an abandoned plate and the lovely tune of oud ceased. Against the lamplight he could tell the figure of a woman getting up behind the purple curtain and leaving with soft steps. 

His gaze fell back to the divan. Malik had turned his head and regarded him blankly from heavy lidded eyes.

Dread surged through Altair`s gut with an ugly roar and arrested the breath in his chest with uncertainty.

At some point, Malik`s eyes lighted up with recognition and Altair allowed hot relief washing it away from his core.

“Brother.” Malik`s voice was a dry rasp, far from it`s usual steely-deep quality. 

Malik rolled heavily from the cushions and dragged himself up to an unsteady stand, took a step, swayed and finally stumbled on the scale to the divan. Altair catched him in time, throwing in his weight to balance them and steady their spontaneous embrace, when Malik was all loose limbs and pliant heaviness his arms.

It turned out to be pretty difficult to hold Malik`s bare body when his skin was slippery from sweat and rose oil, a woman`s perfume, both left from previous coupling. 

Altair`s chest tightened at the unwanted relevation but Malik managed to lift his head and _oh_ , it was all forgotten when Malik smiled at him, shakily reached up to cup his face and kissed him tenderly on the stubbly cheek like something he actually held dear. 

“Brother! Here you are. Let me get you a drink.”

Malik`s smile bloomed over his face as lazy as dazzling, with the touch of a secret at the corner of his lips, wielding the kind of power, to which Altair had long since yielded. 

“No, Malik. I am fine and you are very drunk and heavy. Go, lie down on the divan please.”

The man`s smile fell apart. Robbed of levity, his black eyes became vacant and gaze glazed over. 

“A-Am I? I mean - drunk? Do you find it obscene? Are you ashamed of me again?”

“No! Malik! Nothing of that, but you _are_ drunk _and_ drugged out of your mind.” 

Altair almost didn`t recognize his own voice, uncondemning and soft. Additinally he pressed his lips on Malik`s straight thick brow as a peace offering.

The first time he had found Malik like this, he had lost his temper in shock and repulsion. He had shouted, cursed and forced him with brute strength to dress. At some point Malik had snatched a throwing knife from his belt and pressed it against his own throat, drawing blood, with the promise to sever the carotid artery. 

They had never lost a single word about this since. Not back then, not in Masyaf, and not when Malik sporadically returned to this very same place.

Unable to leave him be Altair had followed him. He had come unasked had stayed largely ignored, only to witness firsthand how thoroughly Malik got wasted and how fierce he looked, taking his pleasure with henna red women.

At first Altair had questioned Malik`s sanity but soon he had come to question his own. Who on earth, in his right mind, was willing to force such repeating humiliation on himself ?

Then, sometime, bordering between anger and hurt, it occurred to him, that Malik had never ever once expelled him from his presence at the brothel, nor limited himself, his consumption and his pleasure-taking with any semblance of shame. Malik had wante him to stay, to suffer, to _look_ . . . 

After this, something had broken way to the surface, something Al Mualim had tried (and failed) to beat out of Altair a long time ago.

Altair cracked his eyes open before pictures of the past could invade his thoughts, briefly wondering, when he had closed them in the first place. He stirred Malik`s head free from his shoulder but when he tried to pry the arm from his neck, Malik fastend himself around him anxiously. 

“Shush, Malik, I won`t leave. There is nothing to fear.”

He waited until the panic-fueled irritation fluttering over Malik`s face dissipated into blankness and his limbs grew heavy and loose before he coaxed the other man with gentle force towards the divan. 

He managed them up the wicked scale without crashing, but in the end they still stumbled over their own feet and fell on the purple sheets in a graceless heap of bodies. 

Malik stated to laugh in breathless mirth at the tangle of limbs, his previous discomfort forgotten, and Altair felt very much disarmed and encouraged. He exploited the distraction and cradled Malik close to his chest again, stroking his bearded chin, and the man didn`t flinch but guarded him affectionately from lidded eyes.

Altair never gatherd enough courage to ask, on what this affection was built on. All he had done so far was selfishly claiming a defenseless castle when it`s gates were unguarded and spread wide to plunder for everyone. 

He splayed his hands reverently over the wiry-lean yet aging body. Malik let him touch what was normally hidden by cloth Altair himself had assigned to him, coupled with the power over live and death of kings.

With repetition Altair had acquired intimate knowledge of how to caress it, the bony peaks and soft valleys equally, driving his fingers through thick coarse hair Malik always had trouble shaving of his chest, abdomen and limbs before missions.

There was no ounce of shame in Malik`s gaze as Altair took him in his one hand and started to open him up with the other one. Not the faintest trace of hesitation or resistance kept him from spreading his knees spread to accommodate another body in between. It was all the reassurance Altair needed to bed him right there, on the silken sheets in some courtesan`s chamber, deliberately, making love to him.

Altair plundered once more, all he could get, before everything would be lost to him again. Or forever.

He drank up all the soft whimpers from Malik`s lips and didn`t think of the first rays of sunrise, when he had to drag himself from this embrace.

Altair pinned Malik down and licked salty sweat from his temples when the other got frenzied, desperate, nothing the cold blooded bastard he usually cared to be. 

Altair needed it, needed it all to remember; his smile, his pliant body, his moans _Altair- Altair- Altair_ when he knew with certainty, the days ahead would be cold and listless.

Because back in Masyaf, a sober Malik would not spare him a second glance and not the tiniest of his smiles. And Altair would be left in the confinement of his lonely bed, wondering, which Malik was the real one and which one he had come to need more.

In the end, his longing was reason enough to stay unfazed to the truth, Malik`s secret, and the fact, it had become a habit, for both of them.


	8. A Man`s Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Love and tenderness come not easy to Malik. Altair helps. 
> 
> Actual warning for angst, rough handling and more explicit imagery !!!

Trough the haze he hears a far call, but he is not willing to pay attention. 

There is nothing he needs right now but this, which is offered to him freely and willingly, and there is nothing he wants more, but claim what he craves, what he aches for.

He doesn`t listen and he doesn’t care for anything, as he takes full liberty, seeking out his own pleasure, and only his. 

"Malik… Malik."

Whispered, pleaded, moaned – a word follows him to the timeless space he soars in. Somehow he remembers, it`s his name, but then again, where he is, it doesn`t mean anything to him anymore. 

"Malik- _aah_ …"

He moans but not in response. He moans because he is desperate to move and he will not abandon his prize, not now, when his only aim is to go there, deeper, stronger, faster...

"M-Malik…p-p-p…"

He chases down a rapidly narrowing path, through a constricting heat, towards a growing fire. 

“MALIK! PLEASE!”

Hs body freezes in surprise and his eyes snapps open. He becomes immediately disorientated as his vision stays obscured and the world around a spinning black void. Any sound is temporary muted behind the mighty rush of blood in his ears. The only anchor he finds is his own heart, pumping frantically in his chest. 

Why did he stop? 

Was there really a plea? 

Malik`s thoughts scatter in different directions until they find something to grasp on.

He remembers his victims. They never plea. He has always been swift to bring death. 

His brothers never plea. They know not to expect mercy in this world. 

Kadar? Kadar had not pleaded until his last breath. He himself had not pleaded, not for his brother`s life, not for his arm. 

From Altair he has never heard any plea in his whole life. He takes it all, takes him, matches him in every way…then why should he now…

Malik`s senses clear up enough he starts to comprehend there is a connection between his only hand, holding down mercilessly, and his hips, unrelentingly pressing up, holding the spine in between to a taut arch.

"Malik, _now_ please ?" The voice is punched-out-breathless and doesn`t rise above a strangled whisper.

Malik sobers up nonetheless, finally moving to do the sensible. He withdraws as carefully as possible from the other body untill all heat is lost and falls down to his haunches. He doesn`t get whats amiss, when other times it seemed all fine.

Altair comes up with a pained grunt. Moonlight strikes him and glosses his sweat covered back in silver. When he stretches, his bones and sinews pop from the strain they were put through.

When Altair doesn`t speak, Malik blurts the only thought his wrecked brain remains capable of.

“Why?”

Altair turns and Malik sees him pinch mortar from his cheek where it`s forcefully molded into his skin. There is nothing to read from his face and Malik shudders with a sudden chill.

"Really, Malik. Sometimes I think you still hate me."

Malik wonders at the slight tremble in Altair`s voice. There is a hidden message, he knows, but where an understanding should be possible, there is an impenetrable wall his logic shatters upon. This is something new and he hesitates at the unknown. Finally, it`s Altair who speaks first again.

“Doting force ... is that all you will ever want do to me? Have you ever considered something else? Or can you only find pleasure when I hurt?”

If there is any rage in Altair, Malik doesn`t get it. Neither can he recognize a grudge. His voice is free from prideful indignation one could expect from Altair but it`s raw with ill-concealed sadness Malik can`t codify because he never has seen Altair like that. Only the word _hurt_ sets of a late alarm that penetrates his blankness. 

“Did I … hurt you…there?” 

“No. I don`t mean that.” Altair falls in, now somewhat flustered and unnerved, then bumps his fist onto his own chest. “You do hurt me _here_.” 

They fall quiet over this revelation. 

Malik is rendered speechless and stays that way under Altair`s expectant, scrutinizing gaze. With every passing moment, words tumble trough his mind, losing their meaning and their connection to the world until his mind becomes blank. Suddenly, the night expands, becomes waste and threatening.

When he thinks he can`t stand it any longer, he must burst, Altair moves over, bridges the rift and Malik belives he is ready to die.

Altair doesn’t kill him, but brushes his cheek then softly presses his fingertips against his chest right over his desperately pulsing heart. 

He doesn`t even hurt him, still Malik feels a hot burn on his face, a sudden splitting ache drilling trough his middle. He looks down his own naked chest because he feels struck and bleeding, but there is no blood oozing out, and no blade embedded to the core.  
Somehow he feels it, what Altair wants him to know, yet he fails to name what claws trough his insides. He scratches on the surface of understanding. The seed is blooming, growing and consuming all the space, while his chest remains too small. He starts to feel like choking, like drowning and it`s terrifying. 

Two strong hands take him by the shoulders and guide him to the floor until they lie chest to chest.  
Two strong arms draw him in and close until he is engulfed in warmth and the smell of sweat and man.

Malik remains rigid. He lacks more than an arm to fully return the gesture and when he breaks down, he crashes to pieces, loses it all. 

Altair tries to hush his cries, tries to calm his sobs. He seeks to sweep tears with gentle thumbs and stifle his wails with unexpected tenderness. But his care is ill recieved and only results in the opposite; Malik strains from his arms with violence. After that Altair reverts to hold the man down and close and lets him cry to merciful sleep.

\---

Malik wakes to a world caught between fading black of night and a rosy dawn, where all forms are shapeless still and the beginning of one body remains undistinguishable from the ending of the other.

He rises from Altiar`s slack grip to watch the first golden light seep through the sky.

Malik doesn`t turn when a rustle in the hay indicates Altair is awake too.

"Yesterday, you have not killed me for my selfishness, for my ineptitude to … to give what you seek." 

His turned back is a silent offer for punishment.

"There is no need for that, Malik." Altair`s voice is sleep-laced and warm. “You have done, what I have demanded of you. You have stoped. And you know best, that I wouldn`t ask for something, someone is not be able to give.” 

At that Malik turns his gaze from the sky. The rising sun paints orange-gold on the stonewall and on the right half of Altair`s face and chest. 

His left eye glows golden, a hint of a frown ghosts the corner of his scarred lips before it lifts towards a half smile.

Malik tries to escape it`s magic, admiring the radiant glow on his hair instead, but he shies not from the truth. 

Altair has truly changed. More than anticipated, more than ever hoped for. Maybe more he himself will ever be capable of. And for once, he seems to know a mans soul better than he himself does.

Altair knows him, knows his cruelty, his selfishness, his vengeful mind. And he still sets his faith in him, believing he is able to care, able for more than his limited repertoire of violence would make belive. He would have never have asked, never pleaded for something he, Malik, wasn`t able to find in himself. The faith put in him awes and humbles him.

The other man must have deduced some of his toughts because his smile deepens until it`s warmth rivals the growing sunlight. 

This time however Malik doesn`t evade it, holds against it till his chest starts to sting again with renewed ache. 

It feels completely different from last night although. It is sweet and he instinctively understands, he has fallen victim to one of the mightiest blades in the world. In a reflex, his old fear tries to surge from his stomach, but then Altair rises a hand, beckoning him back to their improvised bed and he follows like under a spell. 

He knows, he is still far from any notion of love, when he sinks to his knees between the space of Altair`s tights, leaning his bowed head against his wider chest. He doesn`t dare to lay his hand on his body yet.

Altair is patient. He gives him time to adjust, time to find his place, until they are carefully moulded against each other. 

Malik breaths Altair`s scent of his neck and gets aroused like a beast. But now he waits, straining, holding his hand away. Altair`s fingers glide through his hair shootingly, calming down a flaring nervousness that threatens to diminish the anticipation. 

He knows, they eventually will end rough housing again, clawing and pawning at each other, but now he is content with nimble fingers tenderly caressing his side. Malik does relent when his only hand is taken. His fingers fall in the space between Altair`s without hesitance, closing around them carefully. He is rendered immobile like that, yet he couldn`t care less. Altair guides him and he will follow.

And then, Malik gets kissed for the first time in his whole, young life.


	9. A night on the roof

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For horny teenage journeymen everything`s possible but nothing plays out as Rauf would have liked it.
> 
> (Beware crude langague)

  


The old Rafiq did give in to the journeymen`s request to leave for the roof, partly because it was an excruciating hot summer evening, partly because it would have been easier to contain lice in a bag then confine those youngsters to the small bureau.  
  
  
On the rooftop, Rauf, Amr, Altair, Hassan and Malik quickly tossed any semblance of etiquette and order to collapse on the dusty floor, sluggishly stripping from confining gear and cloth. The day`s heatwave had baked fabric and leather into their skin and dried their sweat to salty crusts and with the water sparse and precious, there had been no opportunity to wash and cool down.  
  
  
They were lightheaded and dizzy, still halfway hungry and thirsty, but they didn`t mind that or the dirtiness. It just was the single best thing, being alive, lying under the stars, having the arising breeze caressing their skin.  
  
  
Until, it wasn`t enough anymore.  
  
Time spent free from supervision was precious and needed to be used to satisfy needs they had to negelct otherwise. Now, they were save amongst eachother and nothing but their own exhaustion keeping them off from chasing some moments of bliss.  
  
  
The thickening darkness made it impossible to distinct, who started first, or which brother curled and shifted closer in search for some intimacy. It simply didn`t matter in that moment, if it was Amr grinding into Rauf`s flank, mumbling praises to the charm of a girl he happened to know a bit too intimately. Or if it was Malik`s shin lying across Hassan`s hip, or if that was Altair panting next to your ear working up his need.  
  
  
It didn`t matter, as it was all an intoxicating rush and maddening hunger without words. At least, until Altair`s breathless voice pitched over the multiple wet slide of skin.  
  
  
“Amar, you poet, shut up because you don`t even know how a woman`s breasts feel like.”  
  
  
Before Amr could have retaliated in offence, Altair cried out in pain and fell into aggressive growling. The cry was sharp enough to wake Rauf from his dreamy pleasure but not to deter Hassan from softly whining his peak into the tender fleshy crook of his arm.  
  
  
The kick into Rauf`s shin came unexpected, Amr`s snarled complaint not so much.  
  
  
“Do something, Rauf. They are at it again!”  
  
  
Rauf snorted in frustration because he could imagin what Amr was referring to and it ruined his favourited erotic illusion. Also, as the eldest, he had to get up to ensure peace.  
  
  
He scooted up carefully to orientate himself in the pile of bodies, cloth and gear. The starlight hardly showed the outline of Amr to his left. The limp and sprawled body to his right must be Hassan. Crude slaps of skin and persisting growling indicated that Altair was working his hips next to his head.  
  
  
Rauf scooted up further until he could make out two interwined bodies and that Malik had bitten down on Altair`s shoulder. Judging from the iron smell he must have drawn blood.  
  
  
He dragged Altair up by the hood still hanging off his neck, prying him away from Malik`s teeth and didn`t care if he strangled him in the process.  
  
  
“You bloody killjoy, you ruined everyone`s peace again.” He hissed, not clearly directed at Malik, the rabid animal, or Altair, the brainless monkey.  
  
  
“Bah, Amr can take it and you are always such a slow jerk-off. Next time, go faster.” That was Altair`s voice, painlaced and rugged.  
  
  
Rauf twisted Altair`s hood, until the pressure made him bend his neck quite painfully, bringing them face to face.  
  
  
“I wonder, if you will ever get your priorities right Altair.” Rauf felt suddenly distracted by the golden gleam radiating from his friends eyes. “I mean, holding your tongue while fucking.”  
  
  
_Fucking Malik._  
  
  
Altair`s mouth parted spilling a crossbred of a moan and a chuckle: “Why do you even care?”  
  
  
Rauf couldn`t bring himself to answer. Then there was suddenly a heated hand on his chest, slowly slipping downwards. He swallowed as Altair`s breath washed over his face.  
  
  
“Hey, do you want to join? As compensation? I wouldn`t mind.”  
  
  
A twitch of pleasure tightened Rauf`s groin anew. It would have been so inconsequentially easy to lean in, to kiss Altair and fasten himself to his back, as the man was known to freely take and give wherever he could get it (and he got them all, men and women alike) because he was the youngest, the best and cruelly handsome.  
  
  
Rauf sighed heavily, unwinding the grip he had on Altiar`s hood. In the blink of an eye Malik had snatched him from his grasp and teared down like a prize he owned.  
  
  
Malik, Rauf has come to understand, was not intrested in sharing nor considered anyone lesser than the best to bed him.  
  
  
«Use the sash. I don`t need to hear either of you moan.” Rauf growled before he shifted back to lie down again, facing away from the inevitable towards a side that promised peace of mind.  
  
  
At least Hassan was friends enough to splay his arm over Rauf`s chest for some comfort.


	10. Old but not wiser

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Old men with unresolved relationship issues: Malik is stupid and Altair can`t open his mouth for his own sake.

Malik was jostled from slumber with the hinged door creaking open and clicking into lock again. His fingers curled around the dagger next to his head but he didn`t bother to move or open his eyes.  
  
The cot dipped, throwing him from his preferred sleeping position and gravity shifted him against the body at his back. Malik groaned sleepily, more acknowledging the sweet heat then objectifying the presence. Having the grandmaster slipping into his bed every other night had become a predictable habit over ten years ago.  
  
The man was a living furnace and Malik was overly grateful for the additional warmth so his joints would ache less in the morning which made his life more agreeable these days.  
  
He had recently told Altair so much. They were at a stage in their lives where it hurt them less to talk of private matters. Altair had laughed and told him in return, he had made this particular correlation long ago.  
  
What they didn`t speak about was how Altair would snuggle close those nights, enclosing him in his arms like a precious jewel, as if he needed something within to fill a void.  
  
They also kept silence on how Altair would seek out his hand, caressing it until Malik let go of the dagger so their fingers could entwine. And Malik didn`t thought in his dreams to tell how it made a deep-seated burn well up within his chest, warming him from the inside, just like now, when Altair finally managed to pry his grip open to let his fingers slide in between.  
  
So much warmth made Malik drowsy and sleepy again and he would have been all content to slip back into deep slumber.  
  
A tug at his pants woke him just before he could drift away. The fabric gave way and fingers tickled the sensitive skin on the down path. Malik`s belly reflexively contracted and goosebumps spread all over his skin as they dipped to cup his sex and sac with care.  
  
This was something more they didn`t talk about.  
  
They did not speak about the incident over two decades ago, marking the start.  
  
Not about the years-on-years-long-persistence Altair used to coax him into slow late-night sex.  
  
Not about the always-eager-spread of Malik`s knees, keeping them going as much as Altair`s insistence. There had been nothing to talk to then, and there wasn`t now.  
  
Malik sleepily accommodated his legs to give way to the Grandmasters hands and to have more control over the angle. He already felt his heartbeat quicken in anticipation. There were first sparks in his gut, tingling some and ceasing then. They wold swell at some point to an encompassing urge and sweet spasm, which soon would shake his body in synch with gentle-to-fierce thrusts.  
  
Malik suddenly startled awake from momentary nodding off.  
  
Something was amiss. He felt warm but not burning.  
  
It took him a moment to understand he was still flaccid in Altair`s hand and there was hardly any desire spiking from his loins.  
  
This send him reeling.  
  
It had never happened before. Not once in the long and rocky history he shared with the Grandmaster.  
  
Not before and not after Altair had left with Maria.  
  
Not even when Altair had come back, aged and battered, and had made him shut down the steady stream of young lovers he had taken to bed.  
  
“Malik?”  
  
This was it. The moment in which Altair would get up and leave his bed forever.  
  
He was mortified-rigid from head to toes, his breath arrested with icy fear, while Altair was hot and heavy, pressed against his rear. He had to do something, to act immediately.  
  
“Go on. Take me.“ Malik offered his body, voice flat, hiding his sudden desperation and the hope, it might be enough to keep Altair going. Keep him where he was.  
  
“Malik, no ….”  
  
He felt Altair shoving him off his body and it felt like rejection. It hurt him instantly and so painfully hard, his next words were more a reflex than anything else.  
  
“If this is not good enough for you, leave. Leave and don`t come back anymore.”  
  
There was a moment of absolute stillness but then Malik was lifted, rolled over and slammed in the corner of wall and bed with a force mocking Altair`s age.  
  
“Don`t you dare!” Altair all but shouted over him.  
  
Malik felt dizzy from hitting his head and afloat from being crushed into the bed with Altair looming above him, breathing down his face.  
  
“Let me go -“  
  
“No! I won`t!” Altair was panting from agitation.  
  
Malik couldn`t see a thing in the new-moon blackness and his lungs protested the lack of air. The buzz in his ear intensified rapidly. In his old days Malik had no more pride left to not plead before Altair would break him to pieces.  
  
“It hurts! Altair, let go! You hurt me!”  
  
The weight lifted immediately and his ribs hurt when he snapped for air. While he tried to get as much air in and calming the tremor in his limbs, two hands crept around to his back. One hand gently lifted his rib-cage a fraction, the other holding his neck open to optimize the airflow.  
  
Malik felt himself steadily come back to life. The aches dropped to dull throbs and his racing heartbeat slowed. It was only then that he became aware of the steady murmurs above him, like a dam had broken and the flood was spilling over.  
  
“Don`t- don`t do this- I don`t want to leave you- I can`t let you do that- you are not serious- no? – you don`t want that- let me stay …“  
  
Malik couldn`t possibly see Altair`s face in the darkness but he imagined it showed the exact same mindset from the fateful night over twenty years ago.  
  
It had been a moment of desperation and recklessness which had led Malik to entice Altair into his bed, against the fact that Altair had never showed an inclination towards men.  
  
I had been utter carelessness on his side to throw Altair out right after sex. Because as mildly satisfactory it had been, he had been an illusion to get from Altair what he had craved the most .  
  
Malik had filed the event down his long list of inadequate life choices and not thought of it further until Altair had showed up at his bed some days after, wordless and infuriatingly stubborn.  
  
There had never been love between them, not night then and not the others who followed. It had only been frantic coupling and long silences afterwards where everyone had nursed their bruises.  
  
“Malik- do you hear me? - don`t do this to me- don`t let this happen- we have become old- it happens- it `doesn’t matter that much anymore- it doesn`t matter to me-”  
  
Eventually Altair had become proficient to please and Malik accustomed to let him sleep against his back and such they had continued until now.  
  
“Malik, speak to me- tell me- what do I need to do- what do you want me to do- just don`t- “  
  
Malik stared up blankly into the night.  
  
When had it all changed? Since when had the Grandmaster not come to his bed anymore because he craved simple, fast sex without attachment? To fill his empty arms with a familiar body to hold? Or because he had nowhere to go to?  
  
“Malik please- speak- tell me- I don`t want to leave you- I always want you to be with me- no matter what- as much as I can- I want to sleep in your bed until I die- Malik…“  
  
He reached up and laid his fingers over Altair`s papery lips.  
  
“Since when Altair?”  
  
The grandmasters weight shifted to support himself with his legs while his hands came up clasping Malik`s only hand to his chest.  
  
“Since such a long time ago. I did never tell because I always knew you didn`t trust me to be capable to stay.”  
  
Malik almost gave a harsh laugh. Having his own fault spoken out loud and candid did hurt. But Altair had hurt a great deal more.  
  
Malik moved his hand out of Altair`s grip and dragged him down by the neck. Altair went without resistance until he lied against Malik`s good flank, all warm and pliant. Altair instantly buried his face into his neck and Malik could feel the turmoil he was under. He did let him calm down in his own pace tough before he deemed the moment ready to break silence again.  
  
“I was a moron Altair.”  
  
“Yes you were!” Came straightway back and made Malik smile fondly contradicting the wetness in his eyes.  
  
“I am sorry.”  
  
Malik kissed Altair`s earlobe.  
  
“You better be.”  
  
Malik didn`t stop peppering soft kisses on Altair`s neck, hoping they conveyed at least a fraction of his hope for forgiveness.  
  
“I am, my love.”  
  
Altair tensed considerably at the words but then simply fell back, relaxing, his breath evening out.  
  
“Now, do you want to tell me since when- since when I had failed you so deeply?”  
  
“I don`t feel forgiving enough yet.”  
  
“I understand. But could you tell me sometimes please?” Malik hesitated a moment “I fear we will have to fill many nights from now on with talk and chess then ... other action.”  
  
“Serves me right.”  
  
“What was that?”  
  
“Did I stutter? I said, it will serve me right. Because I almost couldn`t keep up with you anymore, you insatiable, horny bastard.”  
  
It started with a small bubbling in his chest and rose into hysterical laughter, rattling Malik`s chest until his deranged ribs hurt anew and he was sobbing in between. It went on until Altair grabbed his head and set it an end with a hard, demanding kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like sleepy old dad-assassins in love. ;-)


	11. Like in good old days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malik is dead serious and Altair has a death-wish.  
> (Beware of crack and crude insensitivity.)

Malik felt every stone under the thin soles. It made him stop from time to time look down, at his shabby sandals, remembering his youth. There lied no fondness in remembering tough. Most of the children died early from diseases and those surviving went to Masyaf if not crippled and too weak for it. There it had been tough too. They would barley eat enough and the training had been a constant contest of survival to gain skills they would become infamous for.

The chill in his bones made him tug the coat tighter around his sturdy frame but the wind bit mercilessly trough the thin second rate fabric.

Silly old men should stay at home at this time of the year and do not risk their health for silly wishes!

Malik watched the wind toss white blossoms from the almond tree before he set in motion again entering the town gates.

Town was as much he remembered tough. There was an endless stream of new people, new buildings, and a lot of mules. The local trade was thriving under the protection of Masyaf. It had always been this way, there were the ones who protected and those who sow and reap.

Malik would like to think, that it was an unfair trade, blood for grain, but he probably got sentimental these days and the many losses more poignant in his life absent of a supportive system of man, his family.

The advantage was, he could freely stroll through the market without meeting relatives on every corner. And thanks to his guise he was mostly overlooked by merchants in their stalls, because an old crippled man was most likely no customer but a beggar.  
Malik however had an interest in a few of them. He was in town to acquire something specific, something rare, pricy and frivolous.

It was quite the task to give up his pride to ask for this special delicacy. It earned him either pitiful glance or toothy grins. Both grated at his nerves equally. Also the merchants were wary of his gold would send him elsewhere, most likely into another dead end.

There was a moment he almost couldn`t hold his temper in check, as one particular soap-trader looked him up and down an told him to go to a certain house to be served from adolescent boys, because youth was the only cure and it cost him only a fraction of the sum he was ready to spend.

Sparing the morons life had gotten him at least a promising lead to a scent-shop behind the seamster`s corner where he finally succeeded.

The man behind the counter was only a decade younger than himself and blessedly non-judgemental of his wish, his appearance and his gold.

While Malik critically examined finger-thick crumpled roots that could potentially bring him under the ground, the merchant observend him equally intense, to assess how to proceed to haggle the price.

“I know you.”

Malik shot up in alarm, almost losing his headdress.

“Impossible.”

“No, no, you know, I often bring herbs to the villagers around Masyaf. I think, I have seen your face there. You could possibly be one of those madmen.”

“Madmen which protect all the lands here. What does it bother you where I could possibly come from?”

“They`re, very rich madmen. I will have to double the price.”

“Seriously? Look at me. Do I strike you to be rich?”

The merchant looked at him knowingly.

“Well they are often on the road disguised as beggars. It seems now they have gotten as low as to disguise themselves as cripples too.”

“He really is a cripple.” Chimed in a new voice from the entrance.

Both men turned to the speaker. There sat a lousy beggar in the doorframe, barefooted, skin tanned dark from too much sun, with an unruly grey beard and a toothless grin.

The merchant was visibly irritated.

“He can`t be. He has the shoulders of a wrestler and the legs of a runner. And he is too well fed for a begging cripple. I bet a third of the price that he is not.”

“Show him, Malik.” The other beggars grin turned wolfish.

Malik sighed in defeat. He unfurled from the coat and opened the clips holding his tunic on his left shoulder. The fabric fell and revealed his muscled chest and shoulder. Instead of an arm there was a stump, marred flesh stretched over residual muscle and bone.

The Merchant turned pale.

“Sweet heavens…. the crippled … Malik, oh sweet mercy … Malik ibn Faheem Al-Sayf!” He turned to stare at the beggar.

Malik was aware that the scar was not visible, but those eyes under the bushy brows were too pale to be random and too imperious for a simple man.

“Heaven have mercy on my soul … the grandmaster too.” The merchant breathed then fainted behind his counter.

Later that day, on the road up to Masyaf, an odd pair struggled up the rocky path. A beggar idly scraping soot from his still white teeth, followed by an one-armed man in lumps, carefully balancing a pile of bundles, expanding from his hand up to his chin, his ongoing yelling bouncing off the steep cliffs.

“Stealth! Altair! Stealth! Don`t tell me you haven`t learned it all these years! What did I preach you in Jerusalem! Why did you even think you can do this to me!”

“Calm down, Malik. It went all great.”

“Great you say, pray tell me, what is so great in giving the poor man a sheer heartattack and robbing him of his goods worth a half year of work and income!”

The greybearded man laughed out loud.

“Come on, don`t be such a hardass. These herbs were gifts in return for the generous protection I offered. I spared his life, despite him knowing too much, and will keep his secret business save from the too righteous.”

The man stopped and to shorter one-armed one almost bumped into him.

“Now, tell me, what do you need a pile of aphrodisiacs for? For the garden? You know, you could have tasked the healers with it and taken the funds from the treasury and not from your personal savings.”

Uncomfortable-thick silence ensued, which the taller man broke with a sly grin.

“Don`t tell me it is because I told you last night, how the grandmaster of Masyaf deeply regretted his second in command couldn`t bend him over the desk anymore and fuck him into oblivion like in the good old days?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Altair only survived that day because Malik was occupied holding spices worth his bodyweight in gold and because he still had damn fast legs in his fifties.


	12. In need of trust and peace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because trust and respect is the path to love, even for assassins. Sometimes it`s hard to achieve but one of them. Luckily, there is a comfort in touch where words don`t reach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beware of depressive character.
> 
> I`m well aware to be no expert in (historical) washing traditions. Also the descripion/location of the Hamam in Masyaf is not accurate nor in timeline. 
> 
> A warm thank you to all the Kudos-People out there. :-)

Bathing day at Masyaf was a rowdy, hilarious and messy affair like everywhere else, because it was one of the few occasions the men in the fortress could lay down their weapons and were relieved from their strict rules of speech and conduct. It simply was the extra precious occasion in the week to relax, gossip, boast, telling crude jokes and relive the tensions of hard work.

Bathing today at the Hamam had been fun for Altair especially. Rauf had scrubbed his back raw before Saïd had mercy and splashed soapy water in Rauf`s face, which made him sputter, yell and frantically comb his precious beard.

After they had managed to placate Rauf with food, the trio sat together with the oldest Dai in the fortress, Khatib the blind. The old man was not actually blind, but very nearsighted and the best storyteller in the castle. It was relaxing to just hear his melodic voice retelling tales of past times while Saïd massaged Altair with oils first, then Altair returned the favour to him and Rauf.

Altair had enjoyed the relaxing presence of Rauf and his friends, because the man chose his company wisely and outside of the training grounds he could actually be a cheerful guy. He had not lost his calm joy under the pressure of unforgiving regulations, nor had it purged with obedience and subordination. There were not many like Rauf in the brotherhood and Altair liked him especially for being that way.

It had been just something over midday as they left the bathhouse, Saïd heading for his family home while Altair and Rauf went to the highest ramparts to laze and doze in the first warm spring sun, enjoying the breeze on their skin.

Altair woke much later from his nap, the sun had travelled to the far mountain ridge where it descended to set soon. He took in the vaste plains and the horizon line, scanning for threats with his trained gaze. Some boys with goats were on their way, an old man with a mule, nothing exceptional until something curious held his attention.

He nudged Rauf with his boot but the other only grunted lazily.

“Rauf, look, there is still mist over the Hamam.”

Rauf got up unwillingly, shading his face against the sun and gazing at the appointed direction. “Even the laziest of novices ought to have left by now, otherwise he won`t be ready for dinner by sundown.“

So Altair didn`t see ghosts from overuse of eagle vision. He got up and left his unwilling companion to his siesta to see for himself.

The Hamam was a very new building that was installed under Rashid. It was small because it had to fit into the tight space of the ramparts. But it was cleverly laid out so the water from the higher placed quell could be used in a natural way. This also meant, one had to take the only entrance on the higher ground to go down to its heart.

In front of said entrance crouched a very young novice who immediately jumped up at his arrival and blocked the door with his body.

_How unusal._

Altair mustered the scrawny boy wordlessly, scanning his brain for the names of newly enlisted novices.

"Adil, that`s your name novice?"

"Yes, Grandmaster."

Altair could tell his bony knees trembled in fear already.

"Tell me Adil, is there someone currently occupying the bath?"

"There is a late guest, Grandmaster."

That much Altair had already deduced from the sole pair of boots by the entrance. They were a plain standard model for adults and could have belonged to any of his brothers. The little fella certainly was not dumb, sticking to the obvious but not revealing any new information.

"Well, then I shall go and greet him to see if he needs anything."

Altair stepped up to Adil but the novice didn`t budge, even when he was face to face with his Grandmaster. _He had balls, the young fellow..._

Altair furrowed his brows with mock annoyance. _That much should scare him enough..._

"What is it, Adil? May I have entry to my own property now?"

The novice straightened in alarm but held his stand.

_clearly, there was fear...but not of him?_

_Which man on earth instilled more fear in the heart of a novice then the grandmaster himself?_

"Master en-t-trusted me t-to g-guard his p-privacy! He will k-kill me if-if …"

The boy began to stutter under pressure, something Altair would have Khatib to deal with later. He stepped back slightly and cracked a small smile meant to placate.

"I believe, he will not do such thing, if I command him to stay his blade. And he will have to refrain from punishing you otherwise, if I ask it from him. Which I intend to do. You have my word on that. Now, what do you think? Wouldn`t it be the best course of action, if you leave it to the grandmaster to see to the needs of his brothers? If you run fast, you won`t even miss the dinner now."

Either the word of his superior or the promise of food had the desired effect to set priorities straight in the novice`s mind. Little Adil had brains enough to bow deeply in front of Altair before he bolted from sight.

Altair left his boots by the entrance of the Hamam and barred the door from the inside with a broom. He chose to not bother with wooden clogs, which would protect his feet from water, because he needed to move stealthy.

He tiptoed trough the shadowy changing rooms, down the narrow stairs towards the steamroom. The halls were deserted, eerily quiet and the air still humid and hot, but not overly dense and foggy anymore like midday. The central heating platform was abandoned and Altair turned to check the niches where the rays of the setting sun fell trough a delicate mist and painted golden stripes on the wall - and the hunched body of a man.

"It seems, I have erred to set trust into Adil`s resolve and loyalty."

Altair paused his steps in due distance but the man in front of him did not move or open his eyes to acknowledge him.

"In contrary, brother. He strikes me admirable clever and adamant loyal to you. I should be jealous, because he disrespected a direct order from his grandmaster because of you. He was even willing to miss dinner over duty and you possibly remember, how much dinner meant to us when we were that age and growing fast."

The man did not move but sighed heavily, a weak heave lifting his chest before he sagged against the wall again.

"So, did you come here only to remind me of the past? Or my present duties?"

"I`m not here as your _grandmaster_ , Malik."

Now the man cracked his eyes open and stared at him intently. For all the sunlight glossing over his tanned face, his eyes were two merciless dark pits, swallowing all light and joy.

Altair broke the eye-lock first, his gaze wandering over tools, coppery bowls, the soap, the wall...

"Then what is it you require from me so quickly it couldn`t wait until I was finished bathing?"

Malik was mocking him - again - and Altair thought sourly of the many times Malik was invading his personal space without warning to pester him with bills and requests. But now Altair refrained to step up to the provocation with a scathing reply, something he usually enjoyed doing with Malik greatly. 

Slouched against the wall in front of Altair, Malik was poorly huddled in two clothes, one was to cover his groin, the other to veil his stump. His bristly chin had sunk on his chest while his tights were a careless sprawl and his only hand rested limp at his side.

It could have been a picture of peaceful rest, but Altiar knew without doubth, it was a testimony of exhaustion, seclusion and loneliness. And if this wasn`t uppsetting enough it was frightenign, that Malik didn`t care to hide it from him, leaving himself every bit defenseless and vulnerable to the other.

"Well. You are late. The sun is setting soon. Maybe you want ….company."

Maliks laughter was a dry, humourless rasp, bouncing from the walls back and forth.

"Company, you say? How novel. If I wanted company I would have come here sooner."

His insincere laughter abated gradually, confronted with the seriousness of Altair`s stare. Malik tried to dismiss it all with a flick from his hand, but the gesture fell out as indecisive as weak.

"Get out and let me be in peace."

Altair understood that further words would be fruitless. 

This demeanor was what a prey looked like, that had given up to move and free himself from a trap. As a hunter, Altair knew the look of wide eyes, the scent of hopelessness on skin. He had laid so many traps himself, waited until they gave themselves up, man and beast alike. He also knew, that only the mercy of a hunter could free the prey from ropes, real and the invisible ones and that he had to be either unbelievable cruel or gentle to do so. 

Altair undressed without shame.

Oh-and -there-it was, a short gleam of interest which brought Malik`s eyes to life minutely.

"Don`t you dare to parade around naked as if you own the place."

“Don`t be silly, I do own the place now.”

Altair did not regard Malik as he shed his underwear, but still caught on the way his gaze skirted over the planes of his body, carefully avoidng his groin.

"Come on, Malik, since when have you become prude? We know each other since we are twelve."

Well, they knew each other since a long time, more intimately then, but recently they weren`t close anymore. There was a whole world between them, a lost brother and a lost future.

“As you wish.” Altair sighed somewhat dramatically at Malik`s downcast gaze.

He snapped the cloth from Malik`s shoulder to wrap it around his waist and started to observe and count in silence.

Malik tensed in a fraction of the blink of an eye. His hand shot up to cover the stump and then he started to bodily shiver (as Altair counted thee) struggling between making himself smaller to evade looks and the impulse, to jump up and beat the living daylights out him. Altair counted to six until Malik was worked up so far, his temper was on the verge to breaking. At seven he was quivering from agitation, face and ears flushed, a reliable forebode of impending fury.

_So, so beautiful. He should have taken the other cloth too…_

Altair certainly knew why Malik was here, alone by himself in the bath, and his voice was oh so soft but determined when he spoke, cutting Malik`s breath right before he could shout.

"You don`t need to hide anymore, brother. We are alone." _And meant to say, together._

Altair didn`t made the mistake to fall back just because Malik stayed his yelling, snapping air and staring at him with righteous anger. In contrary, he stepped minutely closer into touching range and gracefully knelt in front of him.

"I`m not scared of you. Don`t be scared of me. Let me wash you. I will be careful."

It was a small wonder Malik didn`t budge, yell, or flip the water bowl at him as he picked up the soap-infused rag from the bowl next to his knee. The herbal scent enveloped them immediately, giving Altair a sense of cleanliness and peace.

Malik could have protested, could have left but he didn`t. He was still a quivering ball of fierce protest tough, knees drawn to his chest and his arm draped around to protect his scarred side.

The pang of painful guilt Altair felt in his chest was faint but still there. Dealing with Malik these days was always a step forward then two back. He had to be nothing but patient all the time and extra carefull right now.

"Look at you, you are clamping down like a seashell. Or a virgin bride in the first night of marriage."

Consternation was shaping Malik`s features into an ugly frown. His mouth stayed pressed to a rebellious thin line, showing no inch willingness for compliance.

Altair had just needed the little teasing as a distraction to scoot closer until they were face to face and he could put on his rare, very best, very private smile.

Maybe it was the light shining on his face, the mystical mist or the otherworldly calmness in the hall, or even his sincere smile (not the usual sneer), but Malik`s brows relaxed gradually and his lips filled with blood again. There was still the tiny muscle jumping on his jaw and the blood-vessels on his neck pulsed like ready to burst.

Altair now knew he had his prey where he had wanted, ready to move under his guidance. Now he needed to proceed with utmost care to free it from the noose that held it down until every restraint was dissolved and it was ready to stand on its own feet again.

The moment Altair almost touched him, Malik shied away, body coiled tight like a snake ready to bite.

_One step forward, two back. Patience, Novice, Patience ...._

Altair gave him not much time to withdraw more. He closed the gap until he could lather the soap infused rag on Malik`s neck. The man flinched, chest visibly heaving, but he remained still, gaze drilling into Altair`s.

Altair did not watch where the water and soap dropped but held their gaze, rubbing small circles into the dark and taunt skin. He took great effort to avoid fast motions. He didn`t want to edge him in this critical moment, where haste would result in fast motions and those most likely in violence.

The moment of contact stretched on into many more. It was an unbelievable overwhelming feeling, them being so near after such a long time. They were aware of each other`s presence with every fibre in their bodies, ready to jump, fight or flee.

Altair just kept a tight focus on Malik`s reactions; the heavy breathing, the flaring of his nostrils, the small hair`s standing on end, the tight draw of his pupils. And he kept up drawing small shooting circles all over the skin he could access despite of the fetal position.

Malik was still bony and his skin stretched a tad too much over his joints. The fever after the amputation had burned him out and he had never reached his previous stature again. But he looked definitely better than the year before. The regular meals on Masyaf did a good job restoring his physique and Altair secretly dreamed to personally train him back into shape.

Altair hummed contently as he was able to draw a leg out towards his lap, perfectly concentrated on the task to get it soapy and wet. The second leg he had almost not to draw out but it came willingly under his guidance.  
Malik had relaxed so much his breath came lighter and steadier now.

“Come on, shift a bit for me so I can get to your chest and back. And then your head.”

Malik unfurled himself to sit cross legged in front of Altair and it felt like victory. Altair soaked him fully with hot soapy water, always staying visibly in front of him, then rinsed him off with cold clear water. Malik watched him like a hawk through the process but silently obeyed his requests.

Altair got the knitted wool rag from the tray and started to rub him down, leaving out his left shoulder. He was a bit rough (afraid to be too gentle) with his cleaning but thorough.  
After rinsing him off again, Altair got the set of oils, mixed them without asking, then waited for Malik to catch up and protest. He did not.

The man just stayed as Altair inched in again to bury his palms and fingers into skin and muscle. There was a small gasp, as they touched and Malik tensed considerably before relaxing agin, stretching and rotating to give access to his body.

Altair couldn`t get enough of touching Malik. The soft, rosy light illuminatedd the niche and he watched Malik`s skin break out in goosebumps under his hands, the muscle ripple beneath, when he kneaded a sensitive spot. He started to get overwhelmed by scents, Malik`s musk, and the tickle of black hair curling around his fingers.

Twilight dropped gradually and the residual steam made it difficult to see the body beneath him but Altair knew the shapes under his hands from heart; the width of his shoulders, over the narrow cut of his hipbones, down to the wiry muscled legs.

And Malik responded well enough to his ministrations. When Altair let go the pressure, he could feel Malik melt back into his hands.

He wondered, how long the man had gone without any intimate human touch after the loss of his arm and his brother. If the eagerness was any indication, it was a long, maybe a too long time. Malik was nothing less than a starving wasteland, drinking up the first rain after drought.

Altair wanted to give this sort of comfort as long as he could. It felt, as if he was able to reach much deeper within Malik like this, as his words ever could.

But when his hands came to the marred shoulder, he stopped the massage.

He felt watched and looked up to have Malik regarding him with contemplative quietness. They held their gaze steady for a moment before Malik looked away, letting his head tip to right and spreading the stump from his chest in a silent invitation.

Altair felt forgiven, truly and entirely forgiven and absolved from the past in an sigle instant. His hands trembled as he touched the remaining appendage with more gentleness he probably ever doted on Malik before. Warmth grew in his chest to a fiereball that made him enjoy the task more than he probably should have.

Now he genuinely enjoyed having Malik near. Because he knew him. He knew him such a long time that it seemed he was, in good and bad ways, the only constant in his life.

But then Altair`s task came to an end and he found himself not ready to part from this newfound closeness. Altair (not so) accidentally brushed Malik`s ear and the man bodily shivered.

"I hate it when you do that!"

_What a progress from last year: I hate you Altair!_

The grip he had on himself slipped. Altair wrought his arms around Malik`s chest, forehead pressing to the nape of his neck.

“I`m sorry-”

“Altair, don`t - I`m tired.”

It took Altair tremendous effort to let go and roll sideways, silently berating himself. 

When he had composed himself enough to sit up and look at Malik again, he sat next to the wall again, hunched over, staring into his lap. Altair reached over and lifted his chin to see Maliks face in the grey twilight. His cheeks were healthily flushed but the spirit in his eyes had already drained. The look of exhaustion made his gaze dull and impenetrable like bottomless wells again.

_Would his spirit ever being fully restored again?_

Every fibre of Altair`s being screamed to drag the man against his chest, chastely so, to protect him from this unspeakable sadness. He wanted nothing more as to hold him, rock him gently like a babe and kiss him softly.

"If you want to rest, close your eyes. I will watch your sleep as long as you wish. If you need _something else_ , you shall have it."

Malik faced away then raised to his feet.

"Not today. Another time. Maybe.”

Altair bottled the hurt and disappointment before it could take over. It was not on him to feel hurt. Standing on it`s own feet again, the prey was free to go and he wouldn`t chase it. He knew he had nothing to expect out of this but he hurt nonetheless, because Altair had not always been a hunter, but a lover too.

He watched Malik sluggishly throwing his belongings into his basket. He had to take the last chance.

“Will we meet again here, same time, next week?” _Would you come out of free will near again?_

“Maybe."

Malik stepped down from the side niche, picked up his tunic and left.

As the steps on the stair faded and the main door fell into lock, Altair was left in darkness and silence, admidst abandoned utensils and clammy coldness.

The prey had fled from the hunter`s grasp.

In the void of the night, bare any warmth and light, Altair felt suddenly very light and strangely disembodied.

_How much more would be needed to untangle this particular shy animal from mistrust, hurt and fear? How much longer would it need for healing his wounds?_

Altair couldn`t possibly tell and he didn`t dare to guess.

He hoped however, with all his aching heart, that he may see the day, Malik would be trule free and himself and trust him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will probably edit that monstrosity later. Just needed to hack on something to let things out. (Now edited 11.04.18)


End file.
